The whistling of the Tripling Tipster
by strange organized chaos
Summary: We're Weasley Professor, we all have something to prove."


"_We're Weasley Professor, we all have something to prove."_

* * *

His stare was unwavering.

So fixed upon her, that she could do nothing but fiddle with the hem of her robes and listen. He didn't speak, but there were many other noises to occupy her time. The ticking of the ancient clock which hung -looming- behind him. The indescribable noises Fawkes made as he circled around in his cage. The whistling of the Tripling Tipster, most likely confiscated from the twins and given to him to hang on to.

There was a plethora of noise to occupy her time, but she couldn't hear any of it. She couldn't focus her mind on any of it.

His stare was unwavering.

She looked away, unable to bear the tension in the room. She hated this feeling. Awkwardness never suited her, despite the fact that most of her life was awkward. Most of her life was uncomfortable- a mess that no one would dare wish to be in. And although there were _many_ more comfortable moments in that mess, they were outweighed by the _enormity _of those uncomfortable moments. That one awkward moment. She shuddered involuntarily, wishing for what seemed like the umpteenth time to be anywhere but here.

His stare was unwavering.

She attempted to speak, and it came out as a coarse, rough sound. She didn't know where her voice was, but she couldn't control it. She couldn't formulate the words in her head, spinning uncontrollably behind clouded thoughts. Behind experiences that were dragged to the front of her mind, replaying themselves mockingly.

She couldn't speak in front of this man, as he stared at her with eyes that had probably seen everything. Wise, knowing eyes that were most likely placed in awkward situations as well.

She found her voice.

"Professor, I'm sorry for the outburst."

He nodded, bemused. She watched as he took a hold of the Tripling Tipster and played with it idly. Finally, he pulled the top and they both watched as it spun across his desk, uncontrolled and completely reckless.

He spoke now, his voice a clear, crisp sound. She realized that his voice was nothing like her own, and he most likely always had control of it. It cleared the tension, if only for a moment.

"You are not."

He said it with such certainty that she thought he had read her mind.

He spoke before she had the chance to disagree.

"You most certainly do not regret your outburst, although you do regret the time and place you chose to have it. You regret having what I feel must have been a _satisfying_ outburst in front of me."

She was now the one with the unwavering stare. Her honey brown eyes locked with his wise, knowing ones. It empowered her.

Her voice was now her own. She controlled it. Her thoughts were words, and they began to spill with an inexplicable pleasure.

"To be quite honest sir, it was rather satisfying."

He smiled, a smile that fit him quite well. It was understanding-not patronizing. They reached an understanding with such a simple phrase. It should have ended whatever it was they were having, but they continued to sit. Not uncomfortable like before, but quite and pensive.

"Why am I still here sir?" she broke, after several minutes of silence

He looked thoughtfully at her, then pulled the top of the Tripling Tipster once again.

"To be quite honest Miss Weasley, you are still here because I am a rather curious old man," he said it so bluntly that she could do nothing but nod her head gently.

There conversation had only just begun.

"You said that Weasleys have something to prove. I'm afraid I don't understand."

Her thoughts were words once more, but she wished dearly that they would contain themselves. She didn't want to indulge him. She trusted the man, of course, but there was an image she didn't want to lose. She shallowly hung to the image, desperately trying to claim it as her own.

She wanted to be like the image she had made, an image of a girl with a purpose driven life.

Assured. Happy. Satisfied. Comfortable.

But he knew, and she knew, that those words didn't fit her _just_ yet.

She attempted to look in his eyes again, and was surprised to see an eager gleam in them. They were no longer wise or knowing but eager and anxious. They looked like her own.

With a deep sigh, she began.

"I'm not sure if it's just our generation, but I think most Weasleys are trying to prove something. It started with Bill I s'pose,"

She made a reach for the Tripling Tipster and played with it idly.

"Bill has always been trying to prove something. He's the first born, I think it was a given. He's trying to show us that he can set a 'good example'. He can be the role model son. He trying to prove that he deserves being...the first born. The leader of us all. 'Cause I think he felt that if he didn't do good or if he wasn't..._brilliant_, he would constantly be reminded of it. The one that didn't do well...the one that was outdone...by the younger ones."

She stared off into nothing, not meeting his eager eyes until they become the ones she knew. Despite the fact that she didn't look him in the eye, she was aware that the man was hanging on her every word. It gave her a strange feeling, and she decided to let the conversation continue.

"And then there's Charlie. It took me some time to figure out what he was trying to prove, considering he's driven in...well...everything. I mean... absolutely everything Charlie did-does is to his fullest extent. No holding back. He doesn't think about the consequences of giving his all, 'cause he's willing to take that risk. And then he goes off to Romania, with the Dragons...and no one is surprised. Because that's _Charlie_. And I realized that's what he's trying to prove. He's trying to see how far he can push his limits, before something pushes back. It's dangerous, granted, but he wouldn't be Charlie if he wasn't trying to prove that the world had boundaries, and he was the one that was going to find them."

"And of course there's Percy," she said with a laugh, " who's trying to prove that he's a bloody genius. It's a normal goal and I can't expect anything else from him. That's just Percy. He's ambitious, and he's trying to show everyone that Weasley's aren't just good at quiditch or dare devils. He's trying to make the Weasley name something to live up to...although it already is. Sometimes, I think Percy tries a little too hard to be something no one wants him to be."

There was not a response. He was still processing her words. And she could either wait for a response, or keep going...

She never was a patient girl anyway.

"Then come in Fred and George, and out of all of them, I think they have had the most success. See, the twins aren't trying to be or do something to fit into a certain mold. They're just trying to prove that being themselves- the happy, idiotic, hilarious people that they are- is enough to have the name Weasley. "

She grinned at him mischievously, and moved on to her last brother.

"And then there is Ron, who is maybe just like Bill. He's the last male, the last brother, the one who could either break the mold or conform to it. He's trying to show everyone that the enormous shoes his brothers left behind can be filled. Following in their footsteps. Becoming the next Bill. The next Charlie. The next Percy. The next Fred and George..."

With every name she spoke, she pulled at the top just a little harder. Finally she released it, and watched it spin, once more creating a mess on his desk.

"Somehow," she whispered, "he fails to notice how big his footsteps are. He won't take his eyes of the prize long enough to realize he doesn't need it. He doesn't have to be the next Bill or Charlie or anyone, solely because he's his own entity. He's Ron."

The Tripling Tipster stopped spinning, and she winced, expecting it to explode. Wisely, he vanished it before it could do anything of the sort.

"And then there is you-no?" he looked at her expectantly.

She nodded.

"And what do you want to prove?" he inquired. She looked at him thoughtfully.

"I don't know," she answered truthfully. He raised an eyebrow.

"I used to...I used to want prove that I wasn't someone to be patronized. I didn't want to fit in the mold, and no one expected me to. I was a girl, the youngest, a child. That was enough for them, but it wasn't enough for me. It made me want to fit in the mold that my brothers created so badly and then drastically _not _want to. I wanted my own entity in the family. I wanted to be my own person, prove my worth, show that yes, I was a girl- but so much more."

She scoffed and continued bitterly.

"Now that all seems rather pointless. 'Cause how is being my own person going to help anything. How is being able to prove that I was so much more help when a death eater attacks. It's not a hex or a spell or a curse. It's not going to make me stronger or smarter. It's not anything useful. It's a selfish goal...it won't benefit anyone. It won't_ change_ anything."

"In the war... It won't change anything in the war you mean to say,"

She didn't know why, but she suddenly felt like her answers held a lot more importance then she thought they would.

"Yes,"

"and when it is over?"

"When it's over?"

She repeated it like a fantasy. A thought not fully grasped in her mind. Harry would end it of course, but over. It sounded so...permanent. So out of reach.

"Ginny," his voice was suddenly softer, and her name sounded like an airy spell, " I hope you realize that you are accomplishing both of your goals. Regardless of your doubt."

"I don't want you to dwell to much on the war."

She shot him an incredulous look.

"What I mean to say is dwell on it, surely. Prepare. Fight. Plan. Do what you need to win...but don't let it rule you. Because what we put into the war- our hearts and souls...sometimes they don't come back the way we expected."

His twinkling eyes were glazed.

"But I suppose you already know that, Miss Weasley."

She nodded.

No more words. No more sounds. She sat quietly, not uncomfortably, but pensive.

He summoned the Tripling Tipster once more, pulling at the top in a familiar manner and placing it on his desk. It cleared the rest of the contents clean of his table, and they both watched with a bitter air.

* * *

Sock- I don't even know what possessed this. I don't expect feed back. It's some sort of Drabble. Oh and to clear up the quote at the top-well I was thinking somewhere in a conversation that Professor Dumbledore and Ginny had (because there bound to have some...I mean Harry's not the only one)...she well snapped at something… and said that...and now here they are.

This is roughly between Ginny's 3rd and 4th year...not sure which.


End file.
